


Tortures

by KitKatFandoms06



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Not Dany friendly-ish, Psychological Trauma, Sansa is summoned to Kingslanding, Sexual Assault, Trauma, Tyrion is not a friend, jonsa, smut later? Idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-08-23 09:01:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20240242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitKatFandoms06/pseuds/KitKatFandoms06
Summary: The unsullied throw her roughly on the steps of the Red Keep, her knees burning against the rough stone. The Dothraki had been sure to strip her bare and cut her hair to her shoulders, taking her auburn hair as a trophy. But even now, stripped of everything but her name, she would not let Daenerys Targaryen break her, even as she sat there, wrists bound till they bled. She had already bled too many times, and cried too many tears in Kingslanding to break for another Tyrant.





	1. Kingslanding

**Author's Note:**

> So I finally decided to post one of the hundred Jonsa fics sitting on my phone. First one posted on here! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Warning the first part is a bit dark)

The Unsullied throw her roughly on the steps of the Red Keep, her knees burning against the rough stone. The Dothraki had been sure to strip her bare and cut her hair to her shoulders, taking her auburn hair as a trophy. But even now, stripped of everything but her name, she would not let Daenerys Targaryen break her, even as she sat there, wrists bound till they bled. She had already bled too many times, and cried too many tears in Kingslanding to break for another Tyrant.

“Sansa Stark...” The Dragon Queens voice echoes through the courtyard, sounding much too pleased. “You have been found guilty of treason against your Queen. Your brother has begged for your life,” she glances to the Queens right, seeing Jon standing there, looking pale. “And being a _merciful_ Queen, I have granted you such. Bend the knee, to your rightful Queen, and you shall keep your life. Refuse and burn.” It shouldn’t even be a question.

If only Jon knew her better.

She stands, holding her head high, refusing to be shamed. “I was beaten into submission in this keep until I was purple. And I swore to myself then I would never submit again. So beat me, burn me. I will not bend,” she spits. She would rather die a Stark than a coward. She would be if she bent the knee to another tyrant.

“Let it be known that Sansa Stark has refused my graces. She will burn tonight, as the sun sets.” The Unsullied soldiers, drag her up the steps to the ruins of the Red Keep, past Jon who looks devastated as she meets his gaze for the brief moment she passes.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispers softly, hoping he hears her as they whisk her away. He needed to know that much. She had chosen this for herself. She had broke his trust, she made a mistake telling Tyrion Jon’s truth. And now she chose to die for it. She knew that she would burn no matter what, there was nothing Jon could do to stop it.

She’s thrown into an abandoned cellar of the kitchens, bolted inside to freeze. She looks around for anything to cover herself. Finding nothing, she relents curling up in the corner of the room behind a large shelf. She’s tired, her body aches from the beating she had received from the Dothraki. Daenerys probably relished in her pain, as the dragon mother so often did in the pain of others.

She hears the door swing open, trying to press herself behind a cupboard to hide, knowing it was in vein. “_Sansa_...” She blinks back tears as she hears his voice, peering out from her hiding place to see him standing there. His face falls as he catches sight of her, rushing forward, wrapping his cloak around her. “What’ve they done to you...?” He whispers, his thumb grazing against her swollen cheek.

“I’m sorry...” she chokes out as tears manage to escape.

“Sansa, please, this is my fault. I should’ve-“ “Jon,” she wraps her hand around the straps of his jerkin, pulling him closer. “I swore to myself I would never bend to another tyrant after Joffrey. This is my choice. Do not blame yourself...” She needed him to know this. She needed him to stay alive, even after she was no longer. She needed all of this to be worth it.

“You _need_ to stay alive, you need to keep her tame, make sure something like this never happens again, _please_,” she begs him. She hated Kingslanding after everything she had endured her, but she wouldn’t wish this fate upon anyone. Still at this moment all she could smell was death. “Swear to me, this never happens again...”

“Aye,” he stammers, blinking back tears of his own. “I swear...” He reaches forward, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, the strand ending much quicker than it once had. “Monsters,” he breathes.

“A trophy...” she explains, disgust sitting on his features.

He doesn’t say a word, pulling her into his arms, cradling her head in his hand. Even beneath the blood and death, she can smell him. The smell of home, of Winterfell. Winterfell, that she would never see again.

“I’ll protect you, I promise,” he whispers into her ear, quickly pulling away and fleeing from the room, the doors slamming shut behind him. And all she can do now is pray. Pray that he does not watch as she burns, the way she had watched her fathers head tumble from his body. He didn’t deserve to witness anymore death. Jon doesn't deserve any of this.

The hours pass slowly, with her growing more anxious by the passing moments. Eventually she can hear a commotion outside the room, before Grey Worm himself comes to retrieve her. But he doesn’t bring her outside to the steps to die. He drags her down halls, down a wrapped stairway to a cell before throwing her to the ground inside, slamming the door behind her.

“Sansa?” Her head snaps up, pushing herself to her feet as she sees Jon on the other side, bars separating them. She pulls his cloak tightly around herself, trying to catch her breath.

“What did you do?” She asks in a hushed tone, stepping forward. He takes her hand through the bars, his own still trembling. “Jon-“ “I killed her,” he whispers in a state of shock, shocking her with him.

“What...? Why would... I thought you,” she sputters helplessly, unsure of what she should think.

Daenerys Targaryen is _dead_.

“I never loved her Sansa,” he breathes. “I swore to protect you, and you told me I had to be smarter. So I was, or I thought I was...” She reaches up with her free hand, caressing his cheek gently, unable to find words. He needs comfort, the shame plastered on his face. She wants more than anything to hold him in her arms, to hold him close, to feel his heart against hers. But these damn bars stand between them. “I’m so sorry Sansa, I failed you...”

“No,” she murmurs, leaning forward so their foreheads touch through the bars. “No... You didn’t do anything wrong. None of it. She would’ve burnt all of Westeros... but without her, we would all be dead.” She can concede that much.

“All I’ve done now is sentence us both to death...”

“No... The North will come. They will rally.”

“Arya is here,” he admits. She pulls away from him in shock, needing to see his eyes to believe it to be true.

“What...?”

“I saw her Sansa... I sent her back to Davos with the rest of the northern soldiers.”

“She’ll figure out something then. She won’t let you die again.”

That night they sleep against the bars, pressing as close to one another as they can manage. His hand still clings to hers, as if to prevent anyone from ripping her away from him. And she knows it could happen at any second, Unsullied or Dothraki could storm in and do whatever they wished with her. The fact that the Unsullied are eunuchs, does little to comfort her.

“What was it like...?” She asks, watching the sun rise.

“What?”

“Dying...?” It was strange how quickly her faith faded away. How only that night she was so certain they would survive.

“Cold,” he answers stiffly, his grasp tightening around his hand. “And dark. Then all I could see was red.”

“Fire?” She turns to look at him, seeing a small smile pull at his lips.

“No,” he turns to her, “It was copper. Like your hair.”

“Oh.” It’s all she can manage, hoping the heat on her cheeks isn’t visible.

The next morning she wakes to find a scrap of a dress laying carelessly on the floor of her cell. She crawls forward, her entire body trembling as she tugs it over her head, Jon’s cloak falling from her shoulders. Her stomach turns as the strong scent of death reaches her nose. Collecting his cloak, she returns to her seat on the floor beside him, holding it close to her face in attempt to make the death fade away. The heavy furs still smelled of the North, of home, of him. “Jon?” She croaks softly, her throat aching and dry. They’d yet to bring food or water in the few days they’d been prisoner.

“Yes?”

“Please don’t leave me.” A look of confusion spreads across his features, his skin still covered in dirt and ash. There was no where he could go, except one, and he finally realizes where.

“Never,” he swears, resting his head against the bars, his fingertips finding hers. “We’re going to go home, to Winterfell. Arya will come and she’ll bring us home. Ghost’ll be there. And Bran, and Brienne, Davos.” His voice is raw as he speaks. She can’t decide who it is he’s trying to convince. “You’ll be Queen. You’ll have the greatest coronation in the history of Westeros... We’re not done, you and I.” _We_.

“It’s only us now...”

Her grasp tightens around his, just as her cell door swings open. “Jon-!“ She screams when the two large Dothraki men flood inside grabbing her by the hair, tugging her away from Jon, as he desperately tries to hold onto her. She pleads and cries, tears burning down her cheeks as they throw her over the end of the cot, hiking up her dress. She tries to kick and fight them, but they quickly reprimand her, striking her across the cheek, dazing her. She can hear Jon’s screams, rattling the bars that separate them. Eventually she can’t take it any longer and she falls unconscious.

She wakes in a fetal position, blood coating the inside of her thighs. She would rather be dead, then know what they had done to her. She had been raped again. She doesn’t want to move, she wants to curl up and die.

“Sansa...?” He croaks from his own cell, his voice hoarse. Jon was still there.

She still had Jon.

She forces herself to sit up, her entire body aching excruciatingly. She looks towards him, laying half dead curled against the bars, looking as if he had aged ten years. Tears stream down his hollowed cheeks. She slowly walks to him, sitting back in the place she had been. She curls up against the bars, his hand quickly finding hers, her own tears now rolling down her cheeks. Neither of them speak. She never wants to speak of it again.

There are imprints on her body the next morning, pressing herself so harshly against the Iron bars separating them, desperate for him to hold her without barrier. He tries, her back against the bars, her knees pulled to her chest, his arms wrapped around her from behind, but she still can’t forget the feel of the monster that had been inside her. She trembles seeing the blood again, the sound of the Dothraki’s grunts of pleasure still in her ear as he rode her like a brood mare. Just like Ramsay. It’s only when Jon doesn’t say a word about her state that she sees him shaking with her. It’s far from cold, but they both shake as though they’ll freeze.

She pulls away, turning to face him again, tear tracks staining his soot crusted skin. She reaches up, placing a palm against his cheek, seeming to snap him out of a haze. “I killed him...” he whispers in the same daze he had been days ago, speaking of Daenerys, his gaze fixated on the floor of her cell.

“What...?”

“The other one, pushed him off before he could... Pushed him into the bars and then I just. I reached through and snapped his neck. I didn’t even know I could...” He mumbles meeting her eyes with his haunted grey, tears welling up in both of their eyes once more. “The other one yelled, ran over. And I just grabbed his friends dagger and I slit his throat... They’re both dead.”

“Thank you...” she stammers, relieved that those rapists had gotten what they deserved. Just as Ramsay. And it had been Jon Snow. Every time, Jon had been the one to defend her, to protect her as best he could. “Thank you,” she repeats, her hands sliding along his jaw, cradling his head in her hands, resting hers against his.

“I’m sorry Sansa,” he sobs, his entire body racketing as he weeps.

“Jon, I’m right here. You saved me...” She stokes his dark curls, whispering soft words into his ear, trying to soothe him. “Just focus on me...”

That night her door opens once again and she begins to sob uncontrollably as the Unsullied now descend upon her. They stand at attention, staffs in hand, Grey Worm finally stepping through, a sadly disgusted look on his face as he sees her and Jon trying desperately to cling to one another through the bars. Jon’s arms wrapped tightly around her waist, her own gripping tightly around his neck.

“Lady Stark. I have not come here to hurt you...” Another door swings open, and she looks up to see guards flooding Jon’s cell. Four men step forward, now ripping him from her grasp.

“No! Jon! Please let him go!” She begs as she watches another take the blunt end of their staff and swing it into Jon’s abdomen making him grunt in pain. “No! Let him go!”

“He killed two of my men.”

“Men who raped me!” She screams, getting to her feet, Jon’s cloak falling to the ground revealing the blood stain between her legs.

“Keligon!” Immediately the men stop, returning to attention, dropping Jon to the ground. “Come.” Grey Worm steps forward, taking her arm roughly, her legs stumbling as he leads her from the cell, leading her to the entrance of his cell and releasing her. She glances to him nervously before she runs forward to Jon, helping him sit up as the Unsullied leave. “You keep her safe now,” Grey Worm snaps, and then he’s gone.

“Are you alright?” She asks softly as he climbs onto his hands and knees.

“Sansa...” He breathes, both of them realizing for the first time that there were no bars between them.

“Hi...” He sits back properly and she finds herself embracing him tightly a moment later, awkwardly positioning herself on his lap, his one arm wrapping around her, the other holding them up. She helps him to the less than accommodating cot, tugging the straps of his jerkin loose, tossing it aside she pulls up his tunic to see a large ugly bruise already forming across his stomach. “Does it hurt?”

“Sansa, I’m alright.” She sighs, walking to the windowsill where one the soldiers had placed a jug of water, poring some into a cup and walking over to him.

“Drink.” He sits up carefully, wincing in pain before she holds the cup to his lips, drinking hesitantly. Finally when she’s satisfied, she sets it back down, both of them jumping as the door opens. A young boy steps through, holding a basin of water and some rags.

“For you to clean yourself M’Lady.” He nods, placing it down on the ground, stepping back, a soldier swinging the door shut and bolting it. Her heart begins to race just thinking about it.

“Sansa...” Jon sits up again, placing his hand over hers.

“I don’t think I can do it Jon. I don’t think I can look. It was hard enough with Ramsay,” she confesses, turning her hand over to grip his. “Can you...?” She mutters, unable to look at him as she asks.

“Sansa I-“

“Jon. Please. You’re the only one I trust...”

“Alright...” He relents. “But just tell me if it’s too much.”

She retrieves the basin, sitting down on the edge of the cot, her heart pounding in her chest as Jon kneels down in front of her. She jumps as she feels the cold rag against her already sensitive skin, her heart pounding in her chest as she clamps her eyes shut, biting down on her lip. “Should I stop?”

“No.” She wants it over with. She wants to forget the touch of those men.

She’s in a cold sweat by the time he’s done, Jon placing a soft kiss against her knee before she’s collapsing into his arms in tears, Jon holding her close as she cries. They fall asleep in each other’s arms. Her head tucked beneath his, breathing in his scent, his arms wrapped around her.

She wakes up the next morning before Jon, crawling out of his arms crossing the cell to the bars. She kneels down, reaching for his cloak and pulling it through. Looking around she sees a plate of bread and cheeses on the floor.

“Sansa what’re you doing?” He mumbles, still half asleep.

“Food.” His eyes widen, scrambling over to her, wincing as he sits up.

“Careful.”

“Could’ve mentioned it before,” he jests making her laugh lightly.


	2. Healing

“You look terrible,” she teases, pointing out his wild untamed curls and grown out beard. 

“Gee thanks,” he laughs tossing a piece of his stale bread at her, making her squeal. 

“Rude,” she shakes her head, a smile spreading across her lips anyways. He rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to picking at his bread. She smiles softly to herself, not knowing where she would be if he wasn’t here. But she did. Without Jon she would be dead, ten times over now. Physically, internally, he always seemed to heal her soul every time it shattered. She didn’t know what it meant. 

“What do you think Arya’s doing today?” She asks, the question becoming a game of sorts over the last few weeks. 

“Probably arguing with Davos, maybe Brienne,” he shrugs, not showing his usual interest in the question. For days he would create grand stories, so much like the fairytales she believed in when she was younger. 

“Where?” He raises a brow looking at her skeptically. “Where do you think they are?” He laughs now.

“Hells if I know, I failed geography.” This makes her start laughing, Jon not as amused by this. “Not all of us are perfect like you,” he snaps, silencing her.

“Jon- Gods. I failed it too… That’s why I was laughing. Not because I was laughing at you, I’d never do that…” Not now.

“We make quite the pair don’t we?” He whispers softly, and she nods in agreement, silence engulfing them. Something shifts though in him, the ghosts becoming more vivid in his eyes.

“What’s going on in that brooding head of yours?” She asks softly, shifting closer to him. He blinks as if unable to process her question before turning towards her. 

“I don’t know Sansa... I don’t know anymore. It’s easy to forget it all in here, but what comes next? I don’t know who I am anymore...”

“You’re Jon. You’re brave and you're gentle and strong. And that’s all that matters,” she affirms, taking his hand in hers, running her thumb over his fingers. 

“Sansa-“ “Should you have listened? Should you have asked for help? Probably. But you are not to blame. It was because of me the Lannister’s ever knew of fathers plans. I went running to Cersei because I thought I was in love with Joffrey...”

“You’re not to blame Sansa. You were only a girl. I’m a man grown.”

“Littlefinger then?”

“You took care of it,” he counters stiffly. 

“And you did the same...” She doesn’t want to say the dragons name. “There’s plenty of wrong that has occurred throughout these years. If we burdened ourselves with every single one of them we wouldn’t be able to breathe. There was no easy choice to make. You made the best one you could.”

“I don’t know how to let go Sansa...” he breathes. 

She reaches up, caressing his cheek gently, pulling a curl from his face before placing her hand back on his cheek. “Time... give it time. It will be easier when we are home.”

“I’m sorry...” His head hangs, dropping to her shoulder as his body shakes. Night and day, he could not escape his nightmares. The constant smell of burning and death didn’t help. 

“Hush...” She pulls him closer, her hand running through his curls. He had become so vulnerable. Undone. And he trusted her to be so, just as she trusted him. And she would never betray that trust again as long as she breathed. “We’ll be okay...” She lets him sleep on her shoulder, focusing on his steady breathes as he clings to her. She knew something was coming. She could sense it when the guards would bring them their water and scraps of food. She could only hope someone was coming. And no matter what, she swore that Jon would come home. Whatever it took.

_ Gods, please just let him know peace. _

All these years of war had finally taken their toll on him. He deserved peace. The only thing she ever wanted was for him never to raise a sword again. Never to have to take another life. Never to serve the realm again out of duty and honor. Let him have a life. Let him know love, even if it’s with another. Let him have a family. Let him have the son he’s always dreamed of. She didn’t care if she would be alone, wishing it was him at her side, if it meant he could have one bit of happiness. She’s so deep in thought she hadn’t even noticed the open door and Grey Worm standing before her. “Your sister has arrived. I am to escort you to her.” She moves to wake Jon, but the Unsullied only shakes his head. “Only you.”

She quickly fights an internal battle, not wanting to leave him alone while he sleeps. Especially if he should wake while she’s gone. But she needs to speak with Arya. She needs to know what’s happened in the weeks they’d been prisoner. So finally she wraps him in his cloak, pressing her lips to his temple. “I’ll be back, I promise...”

It’s odd to walk such a great distance, her legs aching as they carry her, sore from disuse and other abuse. She’s lead into the same cellar she’d been kept in to await her execution by fire, relief flooding through her as she sees Arya, only a small cut across her brow. She runs forward, embracing her sister tightly. 

“Thank gods...”

“You smell like shit.” Arya wrinkles her nose as she pulls away from the embrace, looking her over. Arya looks surprised that she would ever allow herself to be in such a state, but she had not seen her during or after Ramsay. 

“How are you here? What’s happened?”

“There’s to be a trial. To decide yours and Jon’s fate.”

“A trial?”

“Aye. Tyrion’s and Yara’s doing,” her sister answers grimly.

“And I’m sure they intend to make sure we are judged fairly,” she says sarcastically. 

“Good thing it’s up to a vote. Every Lord and Lady in the Seven Kingdoms will be in attendance. It will be for us to decide.”

“Arya, he won’t last much longer. His mind...” she speaks, barely a whisper so it’s only Arya who hears. “He needs us. He needs _home_.”

“You worry about Jon. Let me handle this. I might not be you, but I have ways with words.”

“Time to go.” Grey Worm decides and she immediately turns to go with. She had already been gone from Jon too long. 

“I’ll get you home Sansa.”

“I know.” She smiles softly, trying her best to reassure her sister. Even though Arya hid her emotions well, she could see she was worried as she’s lead away. She can hear Jon’s screams as soon as they begin to descend the steps. Without thinking she runs ahead, shouting his name. She gets to the door, seeing his panicked face through the small window. “Jon. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

A hand yanks her away by the hair, another striking her across the cheek. “You do not run,” Grey Worm hisses as another unsullied opens the cell, keeping Jon at bay with the point of their staff. 

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, her cheek throbbing where he had struck her. He shoves her back inside, his strength throwing her to the ground, any good graces she had earned, now gone. She jumps as the door slams shut. 

Jon doesn’t say a word as he collapses to the ground, pulling her into his arms, clinging to her for dear life, and she him. She sits on his lap, letting him rock them back and forth. How dependent they had become on one another’s touch, she couldn’t know how they could ever live separate lives again. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” she apologizes as the sun begins to set, the darkness of the night setting in. 

“I was so afraid...” he whispers into the skin of her neck. 

“I saw Arya. They let me see her. We are to stand trial before the Seven Kingdoms.”

“What?” He croaks, sitting up meeting her gaze. 

“Yara and Tyrion are vengeful...” 

He reaches up, running a hand through her shortened hair, tucking it behind her ear. “I’m so sorry-“ “Jon if you apologize again I swear it will loose meaning. I’ve already forgiven you, because if anyone should be in need of forgiving, it’s me. But now we are in this together, you and I. _Us_. Do you understand me? We will face this _together_...” Her heart races, flushing at her own words. Is that even what he wanted? Would he even want to see her after they were freed?

_ Yes. _She knows it deep down. Knows it by the way his arms curl around her in his sleep. The way his grip around her tightens when the unsullied enter. The way he seeks comfort in her embrace and words. The way he panicked when he woke and found her gone.

“Alright… But there’s nothing to forgive Sansa… I know I pushed you to do what you did. It wasn’t fair for me to cut you out, make you feel small.” 

“It seems we both have forgiving to do.”

“Aye.”

“Can you forgive me though?” She asks him hesitantly.

“You’re probably the only person in the world I ever could forgive for such a thing.”

“Well, that’s a whole lot of geography,” she teases, finally earning a smile from him.

“Aye…”

She doesn’t know where her sudden bravery comes from, as she stares into his grey eyes, but it happens. She reaches up, placing her palms against his cheeks, her thumbs caressing the curves of his face. “I love you.”

His eyes water at her words, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Sansa, I don’t deserve-“ “It’s not about deserving it. Even though you are the most deserving person I know. You deserve so much better Jon. And most of all, you deserve unconditional love. Someone who will love you no matter what. And I do. As aggravating and _stubborn_ as you can be. ”

“And I love you...” he breathes. She leans forward, pressing her lips to his gently. Both of their lips chapped and rough from their weeks as prisoner, but by the gods he’s the sweetest thing she’s ever tasted. And then she pulls away, wanting to keep it that way, soft and gentle unlike any other man who had ever touched her so. Their noses nudge together for a moment before he pulls her back into his embrace, happily curling up against him. There was a silent promise. A promise to hold one another close until they were physically torn apart. 

It’s three days later that Grey Worm arrives in their cell. Soldiers rush forward, forcing Jon to his knees, another two grabbing her and pulling her forward. “You stay. You will meet your fate after the trial.” She feels sick, knowing exactly what that means, screaming for him. They bind her wrists together as they lead her outside the keep, the entire city in ruin. She doesn’t even bother to hide her disgust as she sees Tyrion seated amongst the Lords and Ladies of the dragon pit. 

“Lady Stark, you a brought here today to face trial for your treasonous crime against your Queen. Do you understand the charges you face?” Tyrion states with a smugness that makes her want to strangle him. 

“Forgive me My Lord, but the charges escape me,” she spits, pulling away from the unsullied. 

“You plotted against our Queen, Daenerys Targaryen to take the throne for your cousin Jon Snow. It was you who convinced him to plunge a blade into her heart.” She smiles. Tyrion has just made a mistake. A grave one. 

“And tell me Lord. Why would it matter what a silly Northern girl did to place her _cousin_ in power?” Tyrion pales in an instant, eyes widening throughout the council, looking for an answer. “He is my bastard half brother after all, isn’t he?”

“What does she mean?” Sweet Robyn asks from his place beside Lord Royce. 

“Cousin? Jon Snow is her half brother!” Yara rages, and all she can do is smirk in satisfaction. 

“He isn’t though,” Sam stammers nervously, drawing all attention to him. “Jon Snow isn’t Ned Starks bastard. He’s the true born son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.” Thank the gods that Sam understood. He understood the truth was the only thing that could set Jon free. “I have the documents to prove Rhaegar’s annulment to Elia and his marriage to Lyanna.”

“It doesn’t mean they had a babe.” She sighs hearing her uncle speak. She had learned him to be an exhausting man at this point.

“I was there,” Howland Reed speaks up, the entire pit falling gravely silent. So quiet she can hear the screams of people as they burned weeks ago. “I swore to Ned Stark I would never speak of what I saw to another soul, but now is the time for truth. And the truth is Lyanna Stark bore Rhaegar Targaryen a true born son, and that son is Jon Snow.”

"Have we not just rid ourselves from another mad Targaryen?!"

“If Jon Snow is a Targaryen, he cannot hold power!”

“Nor does he want it,” she interjects. 

“And what assurance would we have? That one day he would not claim the throne should he change his mind!”

“Jon is a Stark. By mother or by fathers blood. He is a Stark,” Arya finally speaks up, looking irritated. “The Iron Throne is gone. It’s done none of us any good. The Seven Kingdoms have only suffered for it.”

“M’Lady, what are you trying to say?” Gendry asks softly, all eyes on her siblings. 

“The North wants their independence. As does Dorne, and the Iron Isles. Why not give it to them. Redivide to the seven from before the Targaryens conquered Westeros.”

“Even so. This doesn’t solve the problem of Jon Targaryen.”

“I’ll marry him,” she blurts out. “I’ll marry him. He’ll take the Stark name, renounce any lands or titles of the Targaryen name.” A flood of murmurs flows through the group, all of them trying to process her proposal. 

“And you speak on behalf of your cousin?” Tyrion asks, sounding more irritated to have lost his power so quickly. “You would face the same sentence should his word be broken?”

“I would,” she vows. 

“Ahem,” Lord Royce clears his throat. “The Vale has elected to join the North.”

“As does the Riverlands,” her Uncle declares. She can't help but think that the man at least has some sense about him.

“And who would lead the North?”

“Why our Queen of course,” Bran answers, an all knowing smile pulling at his lips. “Sansa Stark. First of her name.”

“Jon Snow cannot be King in the North!” Yara immediately objects, slamming her hand down on her chair. 

“And he won’t,” Bran dismisses. “He shall not hold title of King. Merely Lord of Winterfell. Husband of the Queen.” 

“Well then. It’s seems we’ve reached agreement. All those in favor?” 

“Jon Snow killed our Queen and two of our men,” Tyrion interrupts, making even Grey Worm shift uncomfortably beside her. “Possibly more, during the battle.” The Unsullied soldier may hate Jon with a passion, but his behavior towards him had softened in the weeks he had witnessed their interactions. She knew that he understood what Jon had done. Daenerys has sentenced her to die for all to see. The Dragon had sentenced the person Jon loved most to die, and Daenerys got a dagger to her heart for it. Jon did it to protect her. Just as Grey Worm would’ve done it to save Missandei from Cersei. 

_ Love is the death of duty. _

“She sentenced Lady Stark to death. Of course he killed her!” Davos interjects with a verbosity she hadn’t expected from the elderly knight. 

“And the two soldiers?” Tyrion makes the mistake of pressing, thinking her too cowardice to speak the truth. 

“_Raped_ me. Those men raped me and they died for it. Just as they should have. Do I need to go into detail? How they grabbed me by the hair and yanked me just out of reach. The way Jon screamed as he tried to get to me, but couldn’t because of the bars that divided us? Perhaps I should tell you how their cock fit inside-“ She rages on, shamming Tyrion in every way. “_Lady Stark_,” Grey Worm whispers softly. “We accept the terms. The Unsullied and Dothraki will return to Essos. We will leave you be.” Without a word, Arya stands, walking over and cutting the bound ropes from her wrists. And then she turns on the imp.

“Now that that’s out of the way. I do believe it is your turn, Lord Tyrion.”

“How dare you-?!” He shouts as Northern men step forward lifting him from his chair, dragging him to the center and chaining him. “Release me at once! Lady Greyjoy surely you-!”

“Daenerys might’ve been a good Queen once. But she murdered thousands while you stood idle by. My brother was right to stand with the Starks. No matter my disagreement with Jon Snow. The Isles has their independence. That’s all that matters.”

“Lady Stark, what have you to say?”

“We could strip Tyrion of his lands, his titles. We could send him to the wall and let him be erased from history. But he has a silver tongue. And I’m sure Littlefinger can attest that silver tongues do not need fortune or titles to have power. They will always be dangerous, as long as they breathe.” 

“Sansa please-“ He begins to beg, reminding her all too much of Petyr Baelish. 

“You used to be so clever. And now you are only careless,” she states before walking away, unable to be in his presence any longer. 

It’s strange to walk free after spending so long as a prisoner, a weight lifting from her shoulders. She walks through the keep, down the steps, unlatching the door of the cell. Jon is hunched over, sitting on the edge of their cot, his hands clasped together. “Jon...” 

His head snaps up as she walks forward, kneeling down in front of him. She wraps her hands over his, blinking back tears of joy. “Sansa...” he murmurs softly, raising her hand to his lips, kissing her skin softly. 

“We’re free. We’re going home. We get to go home Jon...” she chokes out as she begins to cry, leaning forward into his lap, his hand immediately beginning to stroke her hair. 

“How?” He stammers, his voice hoarse as it had been the last few days due to his screaming. 

“The North has their independence. They want me to be their Queen.” She sits up, meeting his loving gaze. 

“You’ll be a wonderful Queen, Sansa...” He murmurs softly, pressing his lips to her brow. “You’ll be kind and smart and honorable...”

“I hope so... But you’ll be right there with me.”

“I will?” She takes a deep breath, steadying herself, praying that he understands. 

“The only way to appease the council was to swear that you would renounce any titles and land of the House Targaryen. And that we would marry... Making you Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell. I understand if this isn’t what you-“ He cups her cheeks gently, kissing her more passionately than the few kisses they’d shared before. 

“Of course I’ll marry you Sweet Girl... I promise I won’t ever leave you again.”

Soon enough Brienne comes to retrieve them, leading them upstairs to a part of the keep that’s still structurally sound after the attack. Inside the empty chamber she sees a tub and her scaled dress laid out. Brienne must’ve brought it for her when she came from Winterfell. It takes close to an hour to scrub all the soot and dirt and blood from her skin, leaving it raw and flushed by the time she’s done. She dresses quickly after that, grateful for her own clothing again. Her anxiety gets the better of her though being away from Jon so long.

Walking into the hall, it’s entirely empty as she walks next door, entering without even knocking. Jon looks up, helpless as he fumbles with the laces of the fresh tunic they’d brought, one she had made him herself.She crosses the room, taking the laces from him and finishing with ease. “Thank you...”

“Of course...” She pulls her hands away, straightening her gown, that’s too loose from the weight she had lost. She’d tried to lace it as tightly as possible, but it hadn’t done much to help. 

“You look beautiful Sansa.” He says as if he’s reading her mind. She felt all too much like she had when she had been Ramsay’s prisoner. 

“Let’s go home.” 

They walk together down to the docks, stopping as they see Bran and Arya. And it’s that moment she realizes they aren’t coming with. It’s a feeling inside her. 

“You two should be on board already.”

“We aren’t coming. My place is in Oldtown with the Maesters,” Bran says with ease, catching Jon off guard. 

“And you?” He turns to Arya.

“Far from here as possible. Cross the seas. No one knows what’s west of Westeros. All the maps stop.”

“You always were better with geography. You have needle?” She purses her lips trying to hide the smile threatening to break through. Somehow it had become a joke, just between the two of them.

“Always.” Arya smiles softly as she places a hand on the pommel of her sword. 

“You remember your lessons?”

“Stick ‘em with the pointy end.” She stifles a laugh, recognizing the same words Arya had told her. She should’ve known it was Jon who had come up with such eloquent words. “You look after my sister, alright?”

“Always.” 

She hugs them both tightly before seeing Brienne, watching them from a few paces away. She walks over to her Lady Knight. “M’Lady. We are nearly prepared to board-“ “You will not be joining us, Ser Brienne.”

“M’Lady? Have I not pleased you? Have I dishonored you?”

“Of course not. You’ve served me well, and I am truly thankful to know you, but my brother needs you more now.”

“M’Lady...”

“He intends to go to Oldtown. And I am to return north. He will need protection and you are the only one I can trust.”

“And what of you, Lady Sansa?” She smiles glancing over her shoulder to Jon who waits for her patiently, turning her attention back to Brienne.

“I’ll be safe. Jon will protect me.”

“I mean no disrespect, but he failed to do so-“ “Brienne. Jon will protect me,” she cuts off her Lady Knight before she can say something upsetting. No one could know what they had endured together for weeks. “Protect Bran.”

“It was an honor M’Lady to serve you," Brienne finally relents.

“This is goodbye then...” It was sad. To loose the closest friend she had in years, mayhaps her life, but they were entering into a new way of life now. And she knew that Brienne's place was no longer in the North.

“Goodbye M’Lady.” Brienne bows while she curtsies. They stand in silence for a moment before she walks away, returning to Jon. 

“Ready?”

“I never want to step foot here again.”

“Agreed.” 

That night on the ship, she tosses and turns, so unused to being alone. Eventually she relents, wrapping her robe around herself before making her way into the hall. Walking down to the end, she knocks, the door swinging open a moment later. And by the state of him, Jon hadn’t been able to sleep either. “Sansa...”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He steps aside, letting her inside the cabin. She walks over to the bed, sitting down in the edge, Jon joining her a moment later. She curls up against him, his arm wrapping around her frame. “Is it strange that I miss it?”

“No... It might’ve been horrible, but it was simple there.” And he was right. As terrible as the being prisoners was, it was simple. For weeks they would hold one another, discussing whatever they wished, their greatest concern being survival. Being that they both survived and they were going home. It was hard to imagine what came after that. Now she wasn’t just Sansa anymore. She was going to be Queen, and Jon Lord of Winterfell. There would be things they’d have to hide, an act of sorts to ensure what was best for their people. Only when they were alone would they get to be themselves truly. “You think we’ll ever be happy again?”

“As long as we’re together...” 

He lifts her into his arms, placing her onto his lap as he so often did these last weeks. She always felt safest there, her body fit against his perfectly, his head tucked over hers, his arms wrapped around her, her own wrapped around his torso. “I’ll protect you Sansa... I promise.” She knew at the very least he would try. 

“I know.” 

“I love you.”

“And I love you...” He presses his lips to her temple softly. She reaches up, taking his face in her hands, kissing his lips. And unlike every time before, she doesn’t pull away, allowing him to deepen the kiss. She moans, feeling his tongue run against her bottom lip, opening her mouth to him, a warm feeling growing in her belly. His hand runs from her back, resting on her hip, his fingers pressing into her skin. 

“Sansa.” He pulls away as she shifts her legs so they straddle his, pushing her away gently. “You need time…” She smiles, running a hand through his curls, appreciating his concern, just as he had for weeks. Never minding any of his own physical pain waking up every morning. Just like right now, his hard length pressed against her thigh, through his breeches. 

“I need you,” she counters, making up her mind. “I need you to show me what love should be like... Show me _please,_ I trust you. Help me forget their abuses...”

“I don’t want to hurt you... And you deserve better. You deserve the wedding you’ve always dreamed of. I want to see you dressed in silk...”

“Silk?” She hums, his cheeks flushing red. 

“I want to see you in whatever you want. As long as you’re my wife when I make love to you the first time...”

“I could be your wife... You could steal me away. Like the wildlings...” She whispers in his ear, rolling her hips, Jon groaning in response. 

“You are cruel, your Grace,” he growls into her ear, his grip tightening around her back. 

“And what do you intend to do, Lord Stark?” She murmurs, entrancing him in her game. A game of escape, one they were both desperately in need of. One more night of no concern, to indulge both of their darkest desires. “Tell me...”

“Fuck Sansa...” He curses under his breath, his lips capturing hers hungrily, without restraint. “What I would give to put a babe in your belly...” He murmurs as his lips find the nape of her neck, making her whimper in pleasure as her hands grab ahold of his curls. 

“_Please_... Please Jon,” she begs, her smallclothes growing wet with desire. “Please, put a babe in my belly...”

“Anything...” So he finally allows her to unlace his breaches, freeing his hard cock from the fabric. He leans back, bracing her hands on his chest as she grinds her hips again, his hands digging into the flesh of her thighs. 

She wraps a gentle hand around his hardened length, guiding it to her entrance, slowly impaling herself on him, both of them moaning in response. Finally after so long, they were one, together. “I love you...” Somehow he undoes every abuse she had ever suffered at the hands of another man. Something she never thought possible. They peak together, and she can’t help but cry out, never knowing such pleasure before. “I love you Sansa...” he murmurs, kissing her softly as she lays atop him, her ear listening to the race of his heart.

“And I love you...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the support!
> 
> (If people could leave tag suggestions that would be greatly appreciated!)


	3. Epilogue

“Nearly there your majesty,” the midwife coaxes as she bares down again, delirious from her pain. She’s exhausted after more than a day laboring. She doesn’t have anything left to give, and then she had been informed her babe was in breech. 

“C’mon Sansa, it’s almost over...” Jon pleads softly from behind her, holding her up. 

“I can’t... I can’t...” she cries, shaking her head as she leans into him. 

“Yes you can... You’re the strongest person I know Sansa. You can do this...” She doesn’t know where she gets her last bit of strength but the next thing she knows, she hears the small cries of her baby. 

“A girl, You’re Grace...” She hears while the Maester steps forward, tending to her bleeding. 

“You did so good...” Jon murmurs, pressing his lips to her cheeks as he holds her. It’s all she can do to try and catch her breath. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but she did not expect for it to take so much out of her. Jon has to support her as the midwife places the squirming, red faced babe in her arms, and she’s easily the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. “She’s beautiful... Just like her mother.”

“She’s perfect,” she agrees placing a hand against the deep auburn hair on their babes head. 

“M’Lord perhaps you should take the babe and step out for a moment,” she hears Maester Wolkan advises, but she’s barely conscious. 

“I’m not-“ He immediately begins to protest, but she can feel the darkness closing in. 

“Jon, take her...” Her husband quickly stands, taking their babe in the arms, being pushed away from her bedside as she’s finally consumed. 

_“Sansa...” _Something about the voice is familiar. “_Sansa_!” She turns on her heel, her heart pounding in her chest as she sees him standing there. 

“_Papa...” _She rushes forward embracing her father tightly. _“How are you here?”_

_“You need to go back Sansa. You need to be strong.” _He wraps his arms around her holding her close. 

_“I’m so tired,” _she murmurs, burying her face in his chest like she did as a girl. 

_“I know, and you’ve been so strong. Stronger than any of us have ever been with everything you’ve endured. But they still need you...”_

_“I’m dying aren’t I?” _She asks softly as she finally realizes what’s happening to her. 

_“Not if you don’t give up. But you have to wake up Sansa,” _he urges, pulling away from the embrace. _“Go back to your family.”_

_“I’m sorry... I failed-“_ _“None of that. I don’t blame you. And if you need to hear it- I forgive you. Now go.”_

_“I love you.”_

_“Live a good life sweetheart.”_

She blinks and she’s laying in her bed, Jon sitting beside her tears running down his cheeks as he tries to comfort their screaming daughter. “Oh sweet one,” she stammers, her voice hoarse as she reaches out to her babe. 

“Sansa...” Jon breathes a sigh of relief as soon as he hears her voice, meeting her gaze. “I was... I thought I lost you...”

“I’m okay,” she tries to reassure him as he takes her outstretched hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere... I have too much to live for now.” He tries and fails to smile, before standing and walking to the other side of the bed, sitting down beside her. It’s the first time she gets a good look at her baby girl, auburn hair and all.

“She has your eyes too,” he murmurs as he holds her. “Deeper though... Like sapphires...” She can only smile as she looks at her daughter, carefully laying on her side, trying not to disturb her aching body more. 

“She needs a name,” she realizes after a few moments. 

“You should name her for your mother. She has the Tully look.” She appreciates his sentiment, but she would never do that to him. She would not let their child be a reminder of such pain in his life. 

“No... I won’t do that to you.” He doesn’t say anything, but she can see it in his eyes that he’s grateful. There are so many names of their lost loved ones, names though that would bring sadness. This first day, the day of the birth of their first child, she didn’t want this day tainted any further than it already had. “Dyana... Dyana Stark,” she finally decides. 

“It’s perfect...” 

It’s near an hour later that Dyana begins to fuss again and she finally attempts to nurse her. She may very well be Queen, but she would raise her children herself. She would be their mother just as her mother had doted on her children. Her beautiful daughter.  Jon eventually falls asleep beside her as she nurses their babe. He was near as exhausted as she was, and she had been unconscious for hours, allowing her to gain some strength. “Welcome sweet treasure...” Today was the day all their pain and suffering was worth it. “I love you...” Dyana begins to whimper in her arms, and she hushes her daughter softly. 

“It’s alright sweet love... You’re safe here. Your Papa and I will always protect you. You are a daughter of Winterfell, and heir to the North... There is nothing you aren’t capable of.”

“Aye...” She sighs as she turns to see her husband now awake beside her. 

“You should be resting...” He had been so drained from worrying over her and Dyana all day. She knows he had not slept since her labor pains had begun, whereas she had slept through some of it until her waters finally broke.

“I did not give birth today,” he counters as he sits up, kissing her temple gently before turning his attentions to their daughter. “She looks just like you,” he murmurs once again, reaching over and taking Dyana’s tiny hand in his. 

“I hope she gets your curls,” she admits, just as a tiny smile pulls at their daughters lips, making them melt again. 

“I never knew I could love something so much...” Jon murmurs as he presses his lips to Dyana’s little hand. 

“Me too...”

“You know... I thought the gods were punishing us,” he laughs lightly. “Using how we felt for one another to manipulate us. Especially in that cell... Feeling one another’s pain like that... It was like torture. But it also seemed to heal us. It closed the divide I placed between us before... So I suppose I’ll never not be grateful for that time...” Tears are streaming down her cheeks as she places her hand over Jon’s. 

“Well said Jon Snow...”

“I love you Sansa.”

“I love you too...” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End


End file.
